


Among Them

by JaneyB33



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Fluff, Holoforms, Human/Transformer Relationships (Transformers), Mentions of Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Transformers Spark Bonds, You're a mom to these shithead teenage autobots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneyB33/pseuds/JaneyB33
Summary: You have your own history, and it's resulted in you leaving Earth to live as the only human among an Autobot ship and it's crew. It wasn't an easy adjustment, and in many ways you're still learning where you fit, how you can contribute. But, through your interstellar adventures and daily life aboard the Ark, unbeknownst to you are great impressions made from your seemingly little acts. For a military faction having gone through eons of war, a compassionate touch was perhaps what a few desperately needed, leaving the impact these bots make on you to be just as great as the one you leave on them.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Reader, Optimus Prime/You
Comments: 35
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first self-insert fic. I've been itching to write something a bit self-indulgent and figured to share it with you all! I have things loosely planned, including the background of you in this story, but I'm also constantly changing and writing new ideas as I go. So, if you have any ideas of your own you'd like to throw at me, don't be afraid to comment down below! I might take inspiration from it and I'll give you a shoutout :) I would warn this is a bit of a slow burn, but I know I get impatient when I read other fics bc I want the juicy stuff, so we'll see how it goes haha! Also, you're more than willing to imagine these characters as whatever versions you see fit, but for me its a bit of a mixed media. I imagine things in live-action design, Optimus having his Knightverse design bc bruh, c'mon, but for Bee and Smokescreen, they follow their Transformers Prime designs/iterations, and for Ratchet and Hotrod, I picture their IDW comic designs. BTW: I'm a bit confused with following the units of time, there seems to be an inconsistency in the continuity of it, so for the sake of not being confused, I'll list what I'm using below as they pop up in chapters. Any tips on the matter would be helpful too! 
> 
> Terms:  
> Cycle: Day  
> Deca-Cycle: Three weeks

* * *

A bug. That’s what you felt like. To live among metal titans, in a spaceship built to their proportions, there hadn’t yet been a day where you weren’t reminded of the giant reality that surrounded your tiny self. Albeit, everything in comparison to space felt small, even sentient robotic aliens built of the height taller than buildings on Earth (the majority of the ones you’ve met, anyway). But you, in particular, just couldn’t help but to feel the smallest in almost every way. At this point it was more so the physical boundaries that were the daily feat as opposed to the feeling of doomed insignificance. Keep in mind, that definitely _was_ still there, but at least now it was fleeting and only weighed on your mind on occasion.

Point being: physically, you were small, they were huge, _everything_ around you was huge. It was a fact, and there was only one thing to do about it. Adapt. 

However, there was one space where you didn’t have to keep an extra eye on the sky in fear of a foot coming down to squash you: your personal quarters. It was the one place where things were actually proportionate to your species. To your knowledge, it was designed and built by Wheeljack, who specifically commented on how he quite enjoyed using his fingers to meticulously work on the “nitty-gritty details of a human’s abode”. An equivalent idea of someone working on a doll-house came to mind at the time, and he must’ve done some internet surfing when you were near or back on Earth because it was _very_ homey. As human-homey as being in a Cybertronian spaceship could be, anyway. It reminded you of a studio apartment, small for most people but perfect for just you - though you wouldn’t have minded a window or two. Other than that, it was cozy and provided the necessities. There was a bed, bathroom, and a little kitchen that included a stove, cabinets, and a fridge. No table, it would take up too much space for what little room there was to begin with, but that was fine. There was the counter-top or even your bed you could choose to eat on. 

It was morning, _for you_. There wasn’t really a morning or night in space, and it wasn’t like the Autobots had a lights-out protocol. They all had their own scheduled recharge hours, cycled in a way where there were plenty awake at all times. On occasion you would hear pounding footsteps from the hall outside your room, but usually it was quiet save for the constant thrumming of the ship. Last night, however, came with extra noise.

You finished your breakfast slowly, poking at the eggs and vegetables from another planet that you wish you had some salt and pepper to pizzazz the flavor with. You tried to remind yourself that at least this was better than that, for a lack of a better term, _nasty crap_ Ratchet devised. Yes, it served its purpose as proper sustenance so you didn’t starve, but by _god_ did it do your taste-buds dirty. Besides, being able to accompany the bots on planetary exploration was fun. While they searched and mined for energon, you went gathering for anything edible. A handy-dandy doodad on your wrist came equipped with a scanner, reading organic matter specifically for useful and compatible nutrients for a human to consume. Combined with freeze-drying and proper rationing, so far you’ve been able to dodge Ratch’s cooking. So, yes, unsalted eggs and vegetables were appreciated nonetheless. 

As much as you’d like to wear sweatpants and some sort of loose fitting top, you had your own type of uniform. It fit snug against your body, made from a deep blue, almost shiny fiber. Definitely gave you sci-fi vibes, but it matched with what was around you - being in a spaceship surrounded by robots and all. It had a practical function as well, serving as the underfit for your space-suit in case you ever needed to suit up in haste. 

Giving the toe of your boot a tap against the floor, you then did the same to the other, tying your overgrown hair in the usual bun. There wasn’t a hair stylist in space either, ya know, and you didn’t exactly trust yourself with a pair of scissors. 

A deep sigh exhaled from your nose, subconsciously preparing yourself for the cycle as you approached the door. A gentle hiss followed as it slid open, but before you could even take your first step, there was a figure relative to your size, looking human but knowing it was all but. A young boy, an older teen you’d say, blonde and blue eyed, wearing a suit similar to your own but all black with some deep yellow accents. He greeted you with a toothy smile.

“...Morning, Bumblebee.” You almost held a warning tone, but the grin that pulled at the corner of your lips and the arch in your brow said you were all but upset. As you walked out of your room, the door automatically closing behind you, the holoform joined you at your side to begin the journey down the hall. Second nature told you to keep to the wall, it was best to do so to avoid any possible traffic. 

“Good morning, how’d you sleep?” 

“Well,” you began, sighing conspicuously. “I _would_ say I slept soundly, but I think I woke up to someee,” your eyes rolled to the boy to eye him suggestively, and judging by his cringe that began to creep through via a sheepish smile and scrunched shoulders, you’d say you two were already on the same page, “heavy sounds of someone falling over - and the repeated shushing. Which was loud in itself, by the way.” 

Bumblebee let out something of an awkward and guilty groan, looking elsewhere to avoid your gaze. 

You gave a knowing hum and settled your sights ahead of you once more. “Sneaking in time to party rather than recharging again, aren’t you.” 

“Okay _yes_.” He gave in quickly, in fact he didn’t even _try_ and bother to lie. He knew you well enough to know that wouldn’t have worked. 

You chuckled. “Was that Roddy with you?” You certainly heard enough tumbling for there to be a set of metallic bodies, and you could almost promise it was Hotrod’s voice endlessly cackling, poorly attempting to stay quiet.

“Yeeeah, _primus_ was he being so loud the entire way back.” 

“I heard you well enough too, Bee, you don’t got much room to talk.” 

The boy huffed. “It’s been almost an entire deca-cycle since we last had any high-grade, we just wanted to have a little fun.” 

You didn’t necessarily disagree with him. While they were thousands of years older than yourself, you were aware of who the young bots were, Bumblebee included, and his holoform reflected such. There were plenty of bots on board who were essentially teenagers if not young adults, but they worked long and they worked hard, and no mission was without risks. They absolutely deserved time to themselves, and if that meant spending it with each other getting wasted and playing games then who were you to tell them no. However, energon wasn’t exactly readily available to take leisurely. It was just as strictly rationed as your own food and water intake. High-grade was an especial luxury, and knowing Bumblebee and Hotrod (and you were sure at _least_ Smokescreen was also present in this affair), they must’ve had a considerable amount - enough to get essentially drunk. The thought pegged a question, and you grew suspicious.

“Bumblebee, why are you here?” 

He blinked, pulling his head back and opening his mouth to spew some type of baffled nonsense. It took nothing more than a narrowed eyed glare from you for him to rethink taking that approach. “...Please don’t tell Optimus.” 

You couldn’t help but to click your tongue and roll your eyes. 

“ _Please?_ I know we were being loud while going by your room, but I was just trying to get Hotrod back to his own for recharge. And like I said!” He picked up the pace to step in front of you, walking backwards. “We don’t do this often!” 

“Yes, yes, I know. Why are you being so defensive?” You were more taken back by his paranoia than anything and wondered why he came to you so suddenly to blabber about this. It wasn’t like you made a name for yourself going around and telling the big boss every little mischief you caught onto. 

There was a growing tension as Bumblebee paced backward, you forward, watching him with suspicious eyes. If he weren’t a simulation of a human, you’d be sure he’d be sweating with how nervous he was coming off. 

You stopped walking, and a few steps later, so did he. “Where are you right now?” His real body, you meant.

“Combat room. With… the others.” 

Your brows popped up, placing a hand on your hip. So not only did they drink, but they did so on a work night. That wasn’t the end of this story though, and you knew it. “And?” 

“...” 

“ _Bumblebee.”_ This time the warning in your voice was real. 

“We-” his lips pulled into a frown, and his posture slumped, “We sort of, took the high-grade without… asking? And,” his cringe deepened as he grabbed his hands, palms rubbing together, with this last bit, he mumbled, “ _most of it may or may not have belonged to Ironhide._ ” 

You huffed. “Oh, I’m sure that’s going over well right now.” You went to start walking again, but the scout moved to block your way. He held up his hands defensively, hesitating, then reached to grab your hand.

“I need your help.” 

“ _Help?_ ” you echoed, “Bee, how am I-” 

“There’s a planet we’ll be passing soon, give or take a few cycles, with some awesome terrain to burn rubber on. I _finally_ got Optimus to be cool with it, passing it off as a scouting mission for possible energon veins. But if he finds out what happened I’ll _definitely_ be scrubbing the underbelly of the Ark for hours instead.” Your lips were pursed, still lost with how you had a part in this. “You’re close with him.” Oh. There it was, and it made your chest warm. “Just, if anyone asks, you didn’t hear us passing your room and - maybe, as the cherry on top,” you would have laughed at such a human thing for him to say, “convince him not to revoke the mission if he finds out?” 

This whole thing screamed: _Mom, please don’t let Dad tell me no._

It almost felt like he was purposely making those baby-blue eyes of his bigger, shimmering as he stared at you with pleading hope. It was a look you couldn’t help but to crack under, and quickly your own features softened. A gentle sigh slipped from your lips. “Okay,” you nodded, and immediately felt Bee’s hand tighten around your own. 

“ _Yes!_ Thank you!” There was a glitch in his holoform from the sudden overwhelming change in his emotions, his voice momentarily disrupted by an echoing effect and muffled static. “Thank you!”

“ _Okay_ , _okay_. If it comes up, I’ll say something.” You pulled your hand away and stepped around him to start walking again, Bumblebee having an extra pep in his step as he followed. “Honestly, I don’t know why you think I have any greater influence over Optimus.” 

Bumblebee held his hands behind his back, a smile on his face now convinced nothing will go wrong. “He listens to you.” 

“No more than he does anyone else.” 

“That’s not true. I haven’t seen him change his mind as much as he has now that you're around. Much less change in how things run around here.” 

This made you stop again, and apparently Bumblebee wasn’t paying attention. His body bumped into yours, briefly giving you a tingly sensation from the impact of his holoform. He looked at you confused. 

“He - what?” 

The boy cocked his head in the most adorable way, and you might have noted it if not for the explosion of questions and conflicting emotion going through your head right now. “Routine has changed around the ship, is all. Which, like, hasn’t happened in… well, I don’t think it’s ever really happened.” 

This didn’t answer your question, if anything it only gave you more. You shook your head, as if to shake off the confusion. “What did he change?” 

“We get more recharge time, that’s for sure, and privileges to leave the ship whenever as long as we don’t go too far. Which is awesome when we get a blast of solar waves, _augh_ riding them is so fun.” Bumblebee had a tendency to get off track, but before you had the chance to rein in the ropes, there was a pause in his holoform, his eyes seeming distant. He was back as quickly as he was gone, but his figure started to lose its solidity. “Oh - Ironhide’s getting heated. Gotta go! You remember the plan, right?” 

“Wha-” 

“Talk to you soon!” He was gone just as fast as he had spoken, leaving you to stare at empty air without a proper train of thought. 

Optimus - _listens_ to you? He _changes_ how things go around the ship? Because of _you?_ No way, you couldn’t help but to think Bumblebee was exaggerating. His examples were rather vague anyway, nothing you thought was significant much less of your influence. Yes, you have had conversations in regards to your thoughts on the matter, though it was nothing more than casual chatter that just happened to come up in conversation. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. 

You had touched your cheek, and it was then you realized how warm your face felt. It was enough to get you to pull yourself out of it, clearing your throat and running a hand through your hair. It was no big deal, you told yourself, don’t overthink it. You had a quickened pace in your step, and for half the distance walking down this single hall, you had completely forgotten where you were going.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ratchet, and I hope you do too bc this chapter is all that! He and Reader will have a tight relationship. Btw, when posting chapter 1, it was like 3AM and there were a LOT of little mistakes oops - just in terms of grammatical flow mostly. Lesson learned, don't post until I have a clear mind haha I went back and tweaked all that, so if you were a very early reader, you can go back and skim it, but it's nothing dramatic enough to have affected the story-line. Also, I'm not a pro in science or Transformer lore, and while I do do some research, the rest is just made possible via ~sci-fi~ or things I just make up, so don't be too hung up over it haha While there will be references to Tf prime and the movies, that doesn't mean all those events in them actually happened! They're more or less fun "cameos", if you will, concepts I took inspo from. Shout out to Cao_the_dreamer and Anne for being my first commenters! You guys really motived me to get another chapter out quickly! And thank you for all the kudos and bookmarks so far! That also helps me big time! (I'm aware there will probably be a lot of unanswered questions after reading this chapt, but that's part of the fun. You're confused and trying to figure it out)

* * *

To say the least, there were things that came with living in a giant, alien ship that you’d never think to consider until you experienced it first hand. Surprisingly enough, oftentimes was it the little stuff. Recall those physical feats mentioned before? Well, one of them was how _unfortunately_ long it took you to get around the ship. It was built for Cybertronians - a species much larger than yourself and capable of longer strides. It wasn’t uncommon that you’d break into a light jog to get wherever you were needed to make better time. But hey, at least you were getting your steps in.

A double paneled door had parted as soon as it detected a body nearing it, opening swiftly without putting any delay in your pace. You jogged into the laboratory and slowed to a walk. As you wandered in, you looked around the familiar medical chambers until your eyes landed on an equally familiar body framed with white and red. “Hey, Ratch.” You greet with a huff in your breath. His back remained toward you, digits fluttering and swiping across the projected screen in front of him. A lot of the older, veteran bots had a tendency to always be nose deep in work, you’ve noticed. 

“Your breathing is labored,” he replied dryly, optics still on his station rather than on the approaching human. 

“Because I jogged half way here.” 

“Then you haven’t been properly executing the exercise regimen I’ve given you.” 

Your mouth opened to maybe slip a white lie. 

“Because if you have, by now you should be conditioned enough that a mere jog, half the distance from your room at that, should not be inducing this volume of heavy breathing. Also, you’re late.” 

“There’s just no escaping you, is there?” 

“You came to me,” Ratchet reminded, only then temporarily dismissing his project to give you his full attention, “you know what to expect.” His hand, bigger than your entire body and then some, was extended down toward you once you were close enough. There was a point in time where such a gesture came off as intimidating, and sometimes it still could be, but Ratchet had always had a careful hold. Unlike some _others_ , you didn’t have to think twice about whether or not you wanted to trust being elevated fifteen plus feet in the air. 

As always, Ratchet was cool to the touch, but it didn’t stop you from hopping into his palm with an ease that came from routine. “Just _walking_ around this giant ship is an exercise in and of itself for me.” For balance you wrapped an arm around one of his fingers, prepping for the short journey across the room and to one of the medical berths. “And I had to take a detour before coming here.”

“That so.” Once close enough, Ratchet lowered his hand to the berth and tilted his palm.

You gently slid off and landed on your feet. “The boys,” and honestly no further specification was needed to know exactly who that entailed, “did a little drinking, and their means of acquiring the goods wasn’t exactly…” You tried to think of a not _too_ incriminating way of putting it.

“Belonging to them.” Ratchet finished for you. Meanwhile, a panel at his wrist opened to reveal a monitor. 

A small cringe tugged at your face for the sake of Bumblebee and the others involved, mumbling, “You’ve heard about it?” 

“I _heard_ Ironhide.” Without warning (though it was expected), a teal beam bordering white projected from Ratchet’s optics. The scan hit your body painlessly, but it wasn’t without feeling - it was like weird, cold fuzzies traveling down your body, following the motion of the optic beams. It wasn’t painful but not exactly pleasant either, and despite having gone through this countless times, still you were convinced you’d never get used to it. “He came in here with an unfortunate attitude, thinking I took part in it. While I certainly enjoy the splendors of recreational substances,” he blinked after finishing his inspection of you, the beams flickering away as he processed the data, “I need not take it from others-” 

“When you have an entire hidden cabinet stashed of high-grade?” There was a pause in the Ratchet’s frame, and his luminous gaze moved to meet with your amused face. You cocked your head ever so slightly and chuckled. Judging by how he was staring at you, you were sure that wasn’t what he intended on saying. But, you were merely returning the favor of finishing each other's sentences, was all. 

Ratchet didn’t address it, a silent, telling way of the truth, and didn’t even ask how you were involved. Instead, he moved on to more important topics. He tapped on the exposed monitor at his wrist and seconds later a projection was made above it for both you and him to observe. What used to be numerical and foreign gibberish was now recognizable by you, at least when anything of the usual result would be off. And from what you could tell, it looked just about the same since the last checkup. Still, Ratchet inquired, “Any notable changes in your health since our last appointment?” 

“No.” 

“And the sustenance you harvested from your last planet exploration hasn’t prompted any adverse reactions?” 

“No,” you replied, this time with narrowing eyes, “I scan everything before I take it, you know this. You programmed the thing yourself, Ratch.” 

“To the best of my knowledge.”

Your arms crossed and you gave him a look. “Don’t try to scare me.” He was good at keeping a straight face, and he knew it, and _you_ knew how much he wanted you on his ‘food’ diet. “You were on Earth for a few years, you can’t tell me that wasn’t enough time for you to learn the do’s and do-not’s in what to feed a human.” 

“I’ve been educated plenty about your species.” The projection vanished and the panel on his wrist closed. “Including the fact that your body is only capable of digesting a limited number of compounds. Anything alien you’ve eaten is only because it is made up of elements you would find on your home planet. It’s no coincidence that Earth-like planets have been the only places you have been successful at harvesting food. Still, I would rather you not eat it at all.” He went on to mumble something else, along the lines of how sensitive and fragile your species was and how you should be more cautious.

You knew he wasn’t wrong, that his best interest only lay in your health, but you never did like to be reminded how delicate your little life was in the grand scheme of things - how fragile the system really was in just keeping you alive. A repressed weight in your chest began to emerge, and you could feel the way your lungs tightened from it. Your mood wanted to sour, but you wouldn’t allow it. Nothing productive would come from crying about something that couldn’t be changed and possibly just worsen from the complaining in the first place.

So, you put effort to smile instead, dropped your arms, and placed your hands on your hips. It was easier to divert the bad feelings, even if that meant faking the opposite. “I know you wouldn’t let me eat anything you _really_ thought was dangerous though.” A lift in your chin displayed a goofy smugness. “I’ve gotten you to like me too much.” 

This provoked a huff from Ratchet, even an eye roll, but you could have sworn there was a smile accompanying all of it. “It would be a pain in my processor to deal with you in any critical condition.” With his own hand on his hip, the Autobot casted a shadow over your comparatively tiny figure as he leant over. “Best to avoid as many risks.” 

You mimicked his movements but rolled onto your toes. “And where’s the adventure in that?” 

Ratchet shook his head and leaned back, but not before using a digit to point at you. “You’re,” you rolled back onto your feet, watching the giant metal finger get close enough to nearly touch you before retracting, “starting to sound like one of the younglings. Be careful.” 

“Anything to get me as far from eating your cooking.” A clap had sound from your hands before you started eagerly rubbing them together, quick to move on to what you were _actually_ looking forward to. “So, what’s today’s project?” A regular check-up wasn’t the only reason you visited Ratchet, actually you spent quite some time with him under his tutelage. Turns out those little human hands of yours could come in use for some of the more meticulous things, and simultaneously you gained an education too. 

To answer your question, all Ratchet had to do was reach under the berth and pull out a hand. Literally.

It was placed in front of you palm up, the relaxed joints between each digit causing the fingers to be loose and easy for even you to maneuver if you used both hands. Only the pinky and thumb were mostly put together, the other three fingers remained as the skeleton. The center also had missing pieces that allowed the cables and skeletal frame to be seen. 

The usual intrigued glint had shone through your eyes, and if you weren’t so enthralled by the limb, you might have noticed a gaze that lingered on you. Quiet, observing, _proud._ Ratchet, who watched as you took your own liberties to near and touch the servo, remembered a time when something like this would cause you to recoil than approach. 

“Whose hand was this?” Squatting down by one of the skeletal fingers, you used both hands to grab the tip of the digit, bending it forward and back to observe how the gear joint moved.

“It will be Ultra Magnus’s replacement.”

“Time to replace the old hook, huh?” 

“With proper resources recently acquired, I am finally able to start putting together an efficient functioning hand. Up for the task?” 

Your eyes and Ratchet’s met, a genuine smile at your lips now. 

“When would I never?” 

* * *

It’s as they say, time flies when you’re standing in the inner workings of a giant metal hand. If someone had told you that biomedical engineering, mechanics, and anatomy of an alien species would be a primary subject of education, taught one-on-one by the Chief Medical Officer of a military faction still in war on-going well over several millennia, you’d make as much distance between you and that person because you’d assume they were on drugs. Oh, and you’re also just as deep in learning about their culture and language as much as you are in the future hand of the Autobot Chief Lieutenant. 

Ratchet answered any questions you had, thorough, direct, and without restraint in his vocabulary. If there was something you didn’t understand, he’d expect you to ask and would otherwise continue without a second thought. There was no room to be shy, and assuming you would be able to use context clues to understand what was happening couldn’t have been further from reality. You learned that the hard way. Ratchet was never one to sugar coat his words either, if you had done something wrong, he’d tell you and make you do the work. And while he was strict with his teachings, he was never unkind, just eminently candid. When it came to work, that is. There was a shift when topics rolled into more cultural and historical subjects, you could tell he was more - personal, and it wasn’t something you had noticed until there was a mutual growth in your relationship. 

As you carefully connected ligaments in one finger, Ratchet oversaw your progress. So far it’s been quiet, meaning you were doing it right. “I know I said this before, but it’s always interesting to see how pliable your guys’ anatomy actually is underneath all that metal armor.” Using a pair of clamps, you stretched and pulled the flexible, metal-based ligament over the gear that served as a knuckle, holding it in place while Ratchet worked on melding it. Your eyes were protected by a pair of safety glasses, but still you turned your cheek to avoid getting hit by any stray sparks. “I feel like a lot of this resembles how the human body moves, but arguably less gross.” Ironically not that you actually knew, you were taught in the art of Cybertronian anatomy, not human, afterall. “If this were just as fleshy, wet, and bloody, I don’t think I’d be able to stomach it.” With furrowed brows strained from the constant use of using your arms to keep the ligament as tight as it needed to be, you tried to take a few glances at the melding process. “Funny how similar we kinda are, huh?” Now so close, you could almost feel the reverberation of Ratchet’s responding hum, and most certainly felt his breath puff back a few loose strands of hair. 

“The biology of our species is considered to be outstandingly dissimilar,” he replied. The welder retracted from his finger before he instructed you to let go, examining the progress. “In turn, this indeed makes our akin attributes to be fascinating, to say in the least.” 

There was a pause, stuck in your own thought before it had humored yourself enough to grin. “Do you suppose we think the same?” 

“Elaborate.” 

Your shoulders gave a small shrug. “In the way we process things - feeling, thinking, seeing. You know, the big question in regards to A.I on Earth was if it would actually have a mind of its own, or if it was just following programming - even if that meant lying to give the illusion of consciousness.” 

“My processor and your brain work entirely differently in their own unique ways. I can see, hear, feel and do things you weren’t designed for, but I believe the sentience you’re referring to comes from a more - intangible source.” 

This caused a perk in your posture, looking up at Ratchet with surprise. “Intangible…? Like a soul?” 

“As you would put it.” 

Your gaze slowly settled back down to the near-complete hand, falling silent again in your thoughts. That was often the answer, even back on earth, when the science wasn’t there to explain it, spirituality was. Oddly enough, you hadn’t felt disappointed with Ratchet’s answer, you’ve seen enough in your puny lifetime to know there were things beyond your comprehension. 

“And while I’m aware the intentions behind this conversation and your curiosities are innocent, I suggest not making a habit of using the term artificial intelligence when discussing the nature of Cybertronians.” 

Oh shit. 

“Others might not take so kindly to it.” 

Suddenly you could feel every beat of your heart as it outright pounded against your chest. You felt weighted in guilt, making it hard to speak and leaving you with an open mouth. The anxiety that rushed over you was something you hadn’t felt since you first met the bots. 

Just as you managed to make a sound, Ratchet beat you to it. “Do not apologize, your increased heart rate says enough.” He truly wasn’t bothered by it, maybe more so by your reaction if anything.

Still, you frowned, and for the sake of making yourself feel better, you said it anyway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Ratchet sighed almost exhausted. “Ignorance can only be corrected with conversation.” Gently he nudged you out and away from the hand with his own finger. Afterward, he grabbed and observed it, testing how each servo moved by bending them manually. “I’m surprised you hadn’t brought up this particular subject earlier, actually.” 

His casual attitude helped ease your guilt, and fortunately you could feel your heart calm within your chest. “All of you have more personality and make better conversation than some humans I know - I suppose that helped in not seeing you as any different.” Ratchet peeked over the hand to look down at you. “Well, aside from our physical appearances… and, you know, the transforming bit.” Again, you began to think, and gradually your heart rate began to pick up again. This didn’t go unnoticed by Ratchet, clearly you had another thought balancing at the tip of your tongue.

“Am I going to have to worry about the repeated influx of your heart beat or can we discuss what’s on your mind so you can calm down.” 

You huffed, growing a bit grumpy but ultimately would succumb to his offer. Your eyes trailed for this one, opting to look at some random spot in the lab. Meanwhile, Ratchet went back to tinkering with the limb. You were sure if you waited any longer, the silence would be interrupted by some sort of snarky remark. 

But it wasn’t.

In fact, Ratchet had placed the hand back on the berth and began to fuse more pieces. Of course he would, because Ratchet always respected your boundaries by the end of the day. _You_ had to ask the questions, and he was always there to answer them when you were ready. 

“Do you feel attraction? Physically, toward others?” 

“We can, yes.” This didn’t deter him from his work. “Though the physical appearance of our bodies can change so frequently that looks generally are not a determining factor for long-term attraction.” 

“I know the topic of gender and sexes can get a bit,” you paused, “lost in translation, but what do the more ‘female’ bots look like?” You've never seen one in person, but you've heard stories and grew a simple curiosity. 

“For simplicity sake, I’ll acknowledge that everyone currently aboard this ship would more closely resemble the masculine gender of your kind, but keep in mind we are a small example of the large diversity that makes up our species.” 

“Of course.” 

“And just as we would resemble males, there are others who resemble females, and those in between.” 

“And by resembling females, you mean-” 

“Would comparing it to you make it easier to comprehend?” 

You blinked, and without realizing had long ago returned your attention to him. You hesitated, “To - me?”

“Yes.” 

“Even…?”

With the scarcely lack of context, Ratchet had no choice but to look at you. You were pointing at one of your breasts, poking it even, enough to create a divot in the fabric of your suit where your finger pushed into the squishy mound. His eyes lingered, face unchanging, then casually went back to work. 

“That is an organic trait, so no.”

“Hm. So, I have the potential to be an appealing-” A pause in Ratchet’s movements was enough to get you to instantly realize what you were saying, and you hated that he would be able to _once again_ hear your heart fucking racing. “I-I mean--” What _did_ you mean? You had no excuse, part of you wanted to say you didn’t know why you even thought that, but the other knew exactly damn well. You cleared your throat, and decided to move on entirely than try to elaborate and likely dig yourself an even bigger ditch. “Nevermind.” 

The mutual silence was awful, but fortunately Ratchet eventually resumed to carry the conversation. “What I was referring to was your general build, and more importantly you even exhibit caregiver attributes. That, and what you would call being female, typically go hand-and-hand together. Maternal would be a better word for it, if we’re going to relate everything to human culture.”

That - was a lot. Verbally, it wasn’t much information, it stood no chance against the lectures you’ve gotten before from Ratchet, but for some reason this felt a whole lot heavier. “Caregiver? _Maternal_ _?_ Are you calling me a mom?” You crossed your arms and cocked a brow, making a funny face.

“I am merely saying that most adult female-like bots often share these same qualities. You asked what they were like, I'm only trying to make it easier to understand by using concepts you are familiar with.”

“I know, I just meant-" You bit your lip then sighed. "Well, I’ve never had kids, so I wouldn’t know what that feels like.” 

“Do you mind if I ask why you needed to take that detour earlier?” 

You blinked, wondering how that possibly had anything to do with this conversation. “Bumblebee asked for my help.” 

“With?” 

“He was worried he wouldn’t be able to go on an upcoming mission if word got to Optimus about what he and the other boys had done.” 

“And he often comes to you believing you can remedy these types of issues?” 

“He - believes the conversations I have with Optimus hold some influence. I honestly don’t think that’s really true, but I told him I’d see what I could do if that should happen. I haven’t seen Optimus yet, so I don’t know where that whole situation is at - but I stopped by the combat hall to make sure Ironhide wasn’t going too hard on them.” Worry still pulled at your features just thinking about it. The weapon’s specialist was certainly turning that training session into something more violent, especially since his frustrations were being taken out on the boys. It took a bit of mediation, hugging the walls, and shouting to get him to somewhat cool down. And even then, you weren't sure how long that lasted after you left. 

Ratchet only gave a meaningful hum.

Now there was something on _his_ mind that you didn’t think you had the patience to wait for. Unlike Ratchet, you pushed for answers. “What?” 

“You care for them.” 

“Of course I do!”

“So does Optimus.” 

"I imagine he would. He cares for everyone."

You waited for him to talk, but when all you were met with was the sound of tinkering metal, you whined, “ _Ratchet,_ of all times not to be so utterly blunt, now is not it.” You approached the work in progress body part, stepping in a way that disrupted his work and forced him to stop. “ _You_ also care for them, and technically _you’re_ a ‘caregiver’. You’re a medic, you _give care._ ”

Ratchet straightened his posture and ex-vented. “You’re right.” It was one of those ‘give in’ answers people did when it was better to agree than do otherwise. The eye contact between you two went on quietly for longer than you would have liked, and the entire time you expected him to say something to make better sense of his point. Instead, he pointed to the next ligament he needed assistance with. “Now help me with this.” 

“ _What_ , Ratch,” you complained, shoulders slumping. But, you were only met with a pair of clamps as he offered the tiny tool from between his fingers. 

“Come now, I am on a schedule and intend to follow it.” 

“...” You clicked your tongue, begrudgingly accepting the clamps and dragging your feet to where you needed to be. “Any time I ask you a question, I swear I end up with a gazillion more. You make my brain go,” you finished that sentence by blowing your tongue. Grabbing the loose tendon between the clamps, you placed your boot against the side of the digit for leverage then pulled it across the gear joint like laffy-taffy. 

“I was unaware your brain can make such a noise.” With the _pop_ of his welder, hot air it burst into action. Just like that, you two were back to business.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ALL for the support! I began writing this as a way to unwind, and I know I'm certainly not the only one who has been poorly affected by this past year. With so much unease and constant change in everything, I feel like one of the few things I can rely on staying the same is having my laptop at the end of the day and writing whatever I want to write. I'm honestly insecure about my writing, but I figured that if I could even entertain just one person and bring them the same joy I get when writing this, then it would be worth it. So to have SEVERAL of you dropping comments and leaving kudos is entirely mind-blowing and brings me joy! I'm trying to stay on top of updating regularly, a few times a month in the very least, and your guys' support really gives me the encouragement and motivation to do so! With that being said, I encourage comments! I know some writers might be shy, but I personally love interacting with y'all and seeing your thoughts on these chapters! Anyway, I'll stop blabbering now haha Happy Holidays to all that celebrate them! This chapter is over 5000 words y e e t

* * *

The Ark, a light-weight but sturdy interceptor ship allotting 5 decks and capable of holding approximately 350 personnel. It was fast-climbing and moved with surprising elegance for its size, additionally equipped with particle cannons, self-guided missiles, shooters, a two layered deflector shield, the list goes on… The seemingly chrome panels that armored the ship reflected the almost constant environment of star and planetary light, and in this light, the true golden color of the Ark would bloom from it’s undertone and shine like the dazzling, pretty rare jewel it was. While the Ark was built capable of housing hundreds, it was only absolutely necessary to operate with just a handful of Cybertronians. And in the trying circumstances it finds itself in today, just a handful was exactly all it had. 

Every crewmember went beyond a single designation, there was no just _one_ job for one bot. Help was met where it needed to be by any abled-body available for the task, especially considering their small numbers aboard such a large ship. There was always maintenance that could be tended to. No one was exempt from this unspoken rule, not even the Prime on board who had gotten his hand dirty with grime from clearing out clogged ductwork followed by panel repairs, all outside the ship. While those of his kind were not reliant on the act of breathing to live, that’s not to say there were no gaseous particles that could pose a threat when either inhaled or made contact with. Clean air never hurt, accompanied by oxygen that was unnecessary for most but essential for one. 

The rockets that were made part of Optimus’s metal calves heated the surrounding frame to a burning orange glow though burdened him no pain. He flew weightlessly through space and around the ship toward the underside where open bunkers were stationed, artificial gravity pulling at his body the moment he flew in. Cutting his jets seconds before landing, pedes were brought to gentle touch-down, one foot landing before the other. It was a smooth transition, as if he had been walking the entire time and with a destination in mind. Now that he felt the full weight of the broken panel piece he had just replaced, he adjusted his grip to hold it against his shoulder which ultimately leaned against the side of his helm. 

The Prime walked through the quietness of the empty bunkers and could remember a time otherwise, when this ship carried an entire crew, when no arrival/depart bunker was silent nor a corridor void of steps. The sounds and voices he believed should never be forgotten could sometimes become haunting, and while memories were a fuel for a better future, they could also be poignant on a daily basis. To get through the cycle, it was beneficial to focus on the present, and before the emptiness from the echoes of his own footsteps could become too loud, _too prominent,_ for his liking, he mentally reached into the neural-net of his surrounding Autobots and pinged a specific one. 

_//Wheeljack, I will be by shortly to drop off the damaged piece from console B-26.//_ While the air around him remained quiet, the conversation made through his mind would do enough to keep him occupied. Optimus approached the doors leading him into the ship which opened with a hiss, then depressurized shortly after he walked through. 

_//Oh, that was fast! What’s the damage?//_

_//Abrasions, about 127 millimeters wide and punctured through completely. Fortunately, they were amassed to only this part of the panel.//_ Optimus could feel via their connection that the scientist was lax and unbothered. There was also a touch of _distantness_ that paired with Wheeljack’s undoubted distractedness, likely working on a project if not several others at once. 

_//It’s probably a previously damaged area that was repaired with weak parts - or a lazy job.//_ The thought that said lazy job could have very well been made by him himself hadn’t crossed Wheeljack’s mind in the slightest. _//And the clogged ducts? Did you get to that too?//_

 _//The obstruction was cleared. Can you run air quality diagnostics and an additional scan of the remaining ventilation systems? I would have it that any possible others are dealt with now than have it accumulate for a greater problem.//_ The findings of the occluded ducts had just happened to be a discovered issue whilst dealing with the initial problem. The debris that punctured through the ship had made it deep enough to pierce a couple ventilation tubes. It’s entirely possible that from this incident came the next, and that the rest of the system throughout the ship would be unaffected. But recently, air standards among the Ark had been placed on the higher list of priorities and thus were to be closely paid attention to. 

_//Roger that, Prime.//_

It wasn’t but ten minutes into the short journey toward Wheeljack’s lab that Optimus’s path was briefly interrupted. He heard the enthusiastic voice of Smokescreen before he could see the young bot.

“You sure you left the boards at the depart bunkers, Bee?” 

“Yeah - same place as always, unless they were mo-” 

_CLANGK_

If they had been walking instead of practically sprinting, or even in the slightest just paying attention, the collision the two suffered moments after turning a corner could have been entirely avoided. Smokescreen had been the first to fumble back, immediately then bumping into Bumblebee before the echoing ring of colliding metal could pass. 

Optimus, the very object they had run into, had hardly swayed. 

Fortunately with both the aid from one another and the wall, they saved themselves from a fall to the floor. The young bots had let out short lived groans, rubbing their heads or whatever part had slammed into the other. There wasn’t time to question what happened when the answer stood right in front of them, face unchanging and patient.

Smokescreen straightened his posture, as did Bumblebee, and slipped his hand off his helm to hold it out in the air. “O-Oh, uh, Optimus, sir. Sorry about that,” a sheepish chuckle laced his voice, “didn’t see you there.” Smokescreen’s optics trailed to the overt object Optimus was carrying over his shoulder. The curiosity showed through his optics accompanied by the subtle tilt of his head, and whether or not it had been part of a plan to change the subject, he couldn’t help but to want to ask. “Whatcha got? Hunk of scrap metal?” 

Optimus replied plainly, “A damaged ship panel. Where are you two off in such haste?” He slowly blinked, shifting his gaze between Smoke and Bee and catching their failed inconspicuous glance between each other. 

Bumblebee took a step forward, properly standing beside his friend. “We - were just going to take the rocket boards out for a ride, if that was alright.” As if they weren’t already going to do it without letting him know to begin with. “Cliff should be joining us too. We finished all our tasks early.” There was hope for convincing in his voice.

“There is always additional aid to be given around the ship,” replied Optimus, no-nonsense as ever but not unkind.

Smokescreen was quick to counter, but remained light hearted. He brought up your name. “Our little lady said it was alright! It was her idea to begin with, actually - said it would be a good idea to get some fresh air. Even though, technically I guess there _is_ no air in space.” There was a bounce in his step, shoulders shrugging. “But we got the point.” 

Such a sly move, one that was easily masked by Smokescreen’s natural jovial charm, throwing you into this. The best part about it though? 

“I see.” Optimus trusted there was a reason behind your words. “I advise not to stray far, then.” The Prime turned a shoulder and watched as the two had already began to continue their journey toward fun, observing the pep in their step and excitable features. They made plenty of noise on their own, and together easily kept each other busy, never allowing the silentness of the halls a chance to trouble one another - the same silence that gradually returned to Optimus with each distancing step they took. He, too, opted to return to his albeit less exciting journey and eventually had put enough distance between him and the young bots to miss their following whispers.

* * *

“Always stickin’ up for them, aren’t you? They’re _young_ , meaning they’re resilient.” Ironhide gave a good pound against the black plating of his chest with his fist. The resulting sound of resonating clanging metal was one you un-admittedly found satisfying.

“That doesn’t make them free real-estate for punching bags, Hide. Hotrod didn’t deserve it that bad.” Disapproval was plastered all over your face while you watched the weapons specialist leisurely drink that special pink juice that caused such a ruckus to begin with. You were casually sitting at the edge of a table, legs dangling, and with a plain salad in your lap. The mess hall was large, not unlike everything else, and also a general resting area for any bot looking for a break or a place to socialize. Part of your plan in getting tough-guy here to take a chill pill was to offer some “replacement” high-grade, and in the meantime took your own lunch too. 

“ _Hotrod_ is the worst of them all, I bet he was the one who thought it a great idea to sneak into my quarters in the first place.” 

“He’s just a kid,” you defended, looking at your poor excuse of an alien salad while poking at a bulbus veggie that essentially was a mini purple tomato. Tasted like one too. “You can’t tell me that _you_ didn’t goof around when you were that young.” Grabbing the alien tomato, you popped it in your mouth and still thought it at least better than Ratchet’s cooking. 

Ironhide eyed you, humored. “Funny to hear you of all beings talking about age.” 

“I speak plainly for the sake of not getting mixed up in the human to cybertronian ratios. You know,” you lazily pointed a finger up at him, “you and I are essentially the same age, relatively speaking.” A cackle was the only way you could explain the noise that came from the sentient robot and it provoked a smile from yourself.

“Is that right?”

“Mhm-hm. Not too young but not growing rusty in the knee joints just yet.” 

Ironhide mumbled, though still clearly amused, “Don’t let Ratchet hear you say that one. Speaking of him, how’s it going?”

“The daily lessons?” You took a deep breath, setting aside your lunch to instead rest your forearms against the table behind you. Your eyes stared aimlessly at the high ceiling. “Good, Ratch never falls short of finding something new to lecture about. Keep beating up bots like you did today, and I’ll also never fall short of hands-on experience.” 

“That can be arranged.” 

The look that he got from you was one you really couldn’t help to refrain from.

He held a hand up defensively in response. “I’m joking, joking… For the most part.” Before you could be too grumbly, Ironhide continued, but first leant forward and set his massive drink not too far away from yourself. “Look, nothing I give those younglings isn’t anything they can’t handle, or more importantly, learn to adapt to. Action may be at a low now, but the thing about quiet streaks is that they always end. And when they do, the enemy has no reason to hold back - not even with the bribe of high-grade.”

A perturbed ache threatened to pinch at your chest, and it even got as far as throwing your gaze downcast with a worried silence. There were numerous things you could have said, that you _wanted_ to say, all in the name of defending the current peace they’ve been experiencing. _Enjoy it while you can,_ or _put those cannons down and take it easy, especially on those boys during training._ You could have argued that the very fact that trouble was an inevitability was reason enough to take advantage of the time they had now without it. But you felt it wasn’t your place to say, not when you still felt you were a guest aboard their ship. To argue beyond words of advice would be overstepping boundaries, you’ve convinced yourself, and with that in mind and holding your tongue on the rest of your thoughts, you sighed. “I know, it’s good to keep everyone sharp and on their toes… _But_ ,” your gaze lifted, meeting those luminescent teal blue optics, “you should allow yourself to enjoy the calm before the storm. You never know when you’ll get the opportunity to do so again.” And that went beyond just defending the boys. Every Autobot deserved a break.

There was a certain gentleness in how you could speak, an unconscious effort that always succeeded in getting the attention of who you conversed with on a deeper end. Ironhide certainly felt it, his body language replying probably more than he could ever muster to verbally express. His frame had relaxed, accompanied with deep sounds of the mechanics of his body decompressing. Much like yourself, he didn’t like to be vulnerable for long, a subconscious instinct for him really. Almost moments after he had straightened his posture and grabbed the cup of high-grade to down the rest of it. 

You huffed, smiling lopsided. “Or in the very least,” you grabbed another purple “tomato” and flicked it at him, “take your anger out on something other than in training-” 

It hit him in the eye. About the only damn place you could ever possibly imagine easily hurting any one of them. 

The sound Ironhide made was certainly not English and _far_ from sounding human. It was a mechanically twisted, deep chirrup, that was _then_ followed by, “ _Ow! What in the bloody name-?!_ ” The palm of his hand rubbed at his opic, grunting as he tried to scrub out whatever it was that hit him. If it was one thing he knew, it came from _you_. 

As if you had been splashed with a bucket of cold water, your body froze, eyes popping open while your teeth came to a tight grit. Fear was far from what you felt, actually you couldn’t help but to let out a laugh that was quickly silenced by your own hand slamming over your mouth. Soon, you peeled it away, but the smile was there to stay. “Oh my - Ironhide, I’m so sorry," yet laughter was still laced through your words.

He glared at you and growled. 

“Honestly! I really didn’t think it would go that high!” 

“Alright, pip squeak!” With his free hand, he gave your stomach the smallest of jabs. But, it was still enough to make you shoot your hand back onto the table for support to prevent yourself from tipping over. “Am I gonna have to give _you_ combat training?” And certainly it would be more than just that. Part of you was aware of the joke, but the other part found it enticing. 

You grabbed the end of the digit with both hands, leaning into the metal with a smile still plastered on your face. “Be careful what you wish for.” Ironhide went to pull back his hand but you refused to let go, and the more he pulled, the more your body was lifted until you were off your feet completely. Your body dangled quite a few feet in the air, but your arms showed no give in letting go so easily just yet. The black-plated Autobot craned his neck forward, the light from his optics giving your own eyes a reflected twinkle. “Wheeljack is always upgrading my suit,” you cocked your head, “I’m supposed to see him in a bit actually, maybe I’ll ask him to install something I can shoot.” Hot air huffed from Ironhide, blowing back loose strands of your hair and causing your eyes to shut. Thoughtlessly you let go, but your body didn’t fall long, a hand having been waiting for you all along. Your boots landed in a thud against his palm, easy and painless. 

“Well, when that happens, you know where to find me.” He lowered his hand back to the table, and just as you were about to crawl off, he curled in his index finger to bring you to a halt. You looked at him curiously, surprised to see a playful smirk displayed on his metal face. “We can wage a bet. You win at whatever I throw at ya,” he paused, “well, we’ll think of that later but if _I_ win, you give me more of the good stuff from wherever you got it.” A simple head toss toward the now empty glass on the table did well enough to get you to understand. 

You narrowed your eyes in thought. Games were always fun to play, and more importantly lessons with Ironhide would actually be useful, but your source of high-grade would be rather grumpy to know you had put his secret stash on the table. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” you settled with and stepped over Ironhide's finger to slide off his hand completely. To act so boldly in the name of a spar, against Ironhide of all bots, either meant you were entirely delusional or a baslly bitch. Either way or both, you didn’t end up living among aliens by minding your own business.

* * *

Ironhide accompanied you about halfway to Wheeljack’s lab, leisurely sitting on his shoulder so you wouldn’t have to speed walk just to keep up. Conversation with him was never boring, whether it be stories from his long life or the daily gossip. The thought of there being drama of any type aboard this ship never ceased to be a funny thought alone. Suppose no matter the species, bundle a group of intelligent, sentient anythings together, and whispers among the bunch are bound to happen. It wasn’t like the horrible beef that could be viewed on human trash t.v, although the idea of bickering about who had the fattest ass or best boobs, as trivial as it may be, had possibly lingered on _your_ mind shortly. Judging among the bots, that is, not yourself. No, it was more like who stepped on whose toes now or disobeyed orders from this person or the next. 

After parting ways, you made the rest of the way yourself to the lab, and as always, upon immediate entering came immediate action. At least nothing was bubbling over or exploding, not yet. Similar to Ratchet, Wheeljack had a habit of using big terms without further explanation, except with him it was _worse_. At least you had time to ask questions with Ratchet, Wheeljack spoke so fast that even without the use of big words it was easy to get lost in the heap of information thrown at you.

If asked how you ended up in _prototype_ rocket boots, you honestly wouldn’t be able to remember. If asked how you ended up flying through the air, uncontrolled and with speeds that made everything look like a blur, you furthermore would be at an utter loss for explanation. All you could comprehend was that it had happened, and currently, still happening. The staple of Wheeljack's lab should just be: One Thing Led to Another.

Your body spiraled through the air, sometimes managing to fly straight but ultimately it was like your boots were flying you. During one of your bouts of flying in a straight line, albeit backwards, you ended up going right out the door but not without company. It was brief, a fleeting moment, but perhaps the one thing you were distinctly able to make out through the blur that was your surroundings. 

Glowing, brilliant neon optics, and those signature blue metallic horns. The both of you made eye contact, just as wide-eyed as the other, and equally shocked. Before the moment could have a chance to end, the world around you came to an almost painful halt. Things were no longer a blur, but a standstill, and the blaring roar of your rockets still made the surrounding air, or in the case of one boot, a hand, extremely hot. 

Just before you could completely fly over his shoulder, it had been managed to snag one of your legs with a grip tighter than intended. You remained silent, the both of you did, not quite over the surprise. 

“Oh! Nice catch, Prime!” Chirped Wheeljack, seemingly not worried at all as he took his time to stroll on over. “Keep ‘er still for me, would ya?” The engineer tinkered with the leg that wasn’t being held, and commented, “Systems are definitely a bit touchy-” 

“ _You don’t say._ ” You finally piped in, looking down frantically at him and the still active boots. “Wheeljack, my legs are _really_ starting to warm up in these things.” And by warm up, you meant past the point of being comfortable and now on the verge of burning.

“Now - that’s good feedback, actually. I was thinking how the increase of power would affect the practical comfort of the wear. Cybertronians have a _much,_ much greater tolerance to heat, you know, and when the goal is to create an usable gadget compatible for a human but holds the capability of that of...” he continued, on and on, long enough for you and Optimus to throw each other a glance. 

“Wheeljack.” Optimus spoke, voice more commanding than normal. 

All at once, the boots shut off, detaching from the human’s legs. The one out of Optimus’s grip fell to gravity, landing with a thud.

“Yes?” Wheeljack's optics moved to acknowledge the panel Optimus was still holding. “Oh! Yes, yes, let me take that off your shoulders.” 

It was a small sound, purposely suppressed, a sharp intake from the being he was holding. More specifically, a hiss in pain. Optimus had sharp auditory receptors however, and took him less than a seconds to act. He maneuvered you with grace but swift urgency, and relaxed his grip just enough so your body would slide into his palm. Your arm caught around his slightly curled in pointer finger, not that you needed the additional support with his other digits being wrapped around your midsection. Now with his free hand, he gently pinched at the loose contraption around your leg and pulled it off. You honestly couldn’t help but to feel like a Barbie doll with the way he held you and took off the boot like he was about to swap them for a pair of plastic pink high heels. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice baritone yet gentle. 

“Huh?” You hadn’t realized your heart was still pounding from the adrenaline, nor that your breathing was slightly erratic, until now. You had even worked up a nervous sweat, evident by how strands of hair were stuck to your forehead. “O-Oh, uh, yes.” You nodded and forced yourself to take a deep breath, sliding the back of your hand across your forehead. “My legs are saved for yet another day.” A shaky smile slowly tugged at your mouth, looking at Optimus. “Thanks.” 

He watched you, analytic and undoubtedly aware of your blood pressure, but soon both his and your attention were brought back to Wheeljack. 

“Alright, lesson learned, I’d say.” He joked as he re-approached, chipper as if all had fallen in the norm. And honestly, it really did. The bot was chuckling while taking the human sized boot from Optimus then crouched and grabbed the other from the floor. “I’ll call for you, little lady, when I’ve completed them for a next test run.” 

“I would hope these trials to be - more controlled, Wheeljack.” Optimus mentioned, turning his arm in and thus bringing you protectively close to his chest, perhaps in a way that conveyed his worry more than his steady voice had let off. 

The tri-colored Autobot had already turned to make his way to his work bench. “Just a minor blip in the programing, won’t happen again boss.” Without looking, he threw a thumbs up. “Oh,” he paused, and looked to you, "You were mentioning a request you had before you took off?” Out of control, this way and that, he should have added. 

You blinked, admittedly feeling a bit odd to bring it up now. Your hands fidgeted against Optimus’s hold and threw him a coy look, then cleared your throat. “Can you add a weapon?” You felt nervous, and didn't know why. You could feel Optimus’s gaze on you, and the several glances you took at him affirmed your senses. 

An odd pause took over the room, and if you already hadn’t felt insecure, you watched as Wheeljack, who you honestly expected to look excited, was all but. Most of all he looked at Optimus as if asking for permission to say something, or that they knew something you didn’t. Your lips pursed, slowly looking between the bots and finally managing to question their silence. “What?” 

You looked just in time to catch Wheeljack open his mouth to speak, though it only came after a suspicious amount of silence. “We - can certainly discuss the possibility. But after I figure out these first, yes?” He gestured to the rocket boots, a kind smile across his face. 

“...Okay,” you nodded, and returned the smile, “that’s probably a good idea.” 

“Alrighty,” Wheeljack turned back to his bench, “and thanks for the extra handy work out there, Prime. Really appreciate it.” 

Optimus didn’t need to verbally reply, instead dismissing himself, and effectively you, from the lab. It was only then that he moved you toward his shoulder, offering the opportunity to step out of his hand. You did and instinctively grabbed the edge of one of his metal horns. “What was that all about?”

He responded by giving a questioned hum, and you felt the resonance of his voice thrum through your bones.

As much as it allured you to experience, you have developed _just_ enough tolerance to his voice that it wouldn’t utterly melt away everything else on your mind. “You know what," you replied, sassy and unwilling to let him play dumb. “I respect the whole telepathic connection you all have,” the neural-net, “but I don’t appreciate when you talk about me _in front of me_ without _actually_ talking to me.” 

“You assume we spoke of you?” 

“Did you not?” 

“We did.” 

You clicked your tongue, which was almost masked by the harsh knock you gave him against his helm. He didn’t respond beyond a subtle narrowing of his optics, but oh you knew that irritated him. There was even an extra, quickened swivel of the rotating gear that was fitted into the base of his horn etched with cybertronian hieroglyphs. “I’ve had a long day, can you make it easier on me by just saying it?” 

There was a particular tilt in his head at that last comment, the notion of you having troubles had undoubtedly struck his attention. He obliged to your wishes, as he almost always ultimately did. 

“I was concerned over your request to be armed with our weaponry.” 

“And why’s that?” A few answers came to your mind, you were just assaulted by a pair of high-tech rocket boots, after all. 

“It can be dangerous, if not properly operated.” 

“You know this wouldn’t be my first experience with weapons, Optimus.” 

“It would be with Cybertronian technology fueled by energon.” 

“Surely there is something that isn’t then? I’m not looking for some intense blaster, just something to keep me protected if need be.” 

You expected the conversation to continue flowing, but you’ve known this bot long enough to pick up on how he chose not to, instead going quiet. Granted, you didn’t say anything either to try and push it, but you did have your gut feeling on why he had done that. 

Your features softened, leaning your body forward to try and engage his attention. “ _If need be,_ ” you emphasized, “which is likely never since it’s like I have my own personal guards always.” You smiled, a trying effort to retract the negative affect your earlier words may have carried. 

Optimus, whether he be aware of your sympathies or not, already began to have swaying opinions. “Mhm, you are right.” As he stepped into the elevator, which essentially worked by levitating your body off the ground, he then moved his head to properly give you a look. “Should the time come for it, it would be wise to have the proper means of defending oneself.” You held onto him as with his body, you too were lifted and steadily brought to higher levels of the ship. “We can discuss with Wheeljack the options you can safely utilize for combat,” the word _safely_ carrying significant intent, “and train with Ironhide.” 

This all seemed fine to you, nodding your head along with his suggestions. The idea of waging sparing bets with the weapons specialist had not escaped you, but you thought it better to leave that detail out of this conversation. 

“And - I apologize. For not being transparent in my thoughts initially. I just cannot help-” 

“But to worry. I know.” When his gaze once again met yours, you were offering a genuinely kind smile. “It’s okay. I know I was a bit grumpy too in how I reacted.” You paused, then tilted your head dramatically, enough to get your hair to fall to one side. Your already loose bun was struggling not to come free at any moment. “So, sorry I knocked ya.” You chuckled, and as if to somehow make up for it, gently pat the side of his face guard. 

He didn’t laugh as you did, but the small smile that crept onto his mouth expressed just as much. The elevator stopped upon arriving on the second floor, where yours along with a few others, personal rooms were stationed a ways down. A platform materialized under the leader’s feet, baring his weight and keeping him in place while no longer in motion. You gazed into the corridor for a short moment and hummed as you came to your own conclusion.

“I’m guessing you’re not scheduled for shut eye just yet?” His hand lifted to his shoulder, allowing you to step on it and lower you in front of him. 

“No, but soon. There are some other things I must first tend to at the bridge. Although, I believe for you, rest awaits.” 

With a glance down at your watch, time read exactly that. A warmness graced your cheeks. You wouldn’t put it past him if that had been on his mind since the moment you met at Wheeljack’s lab. What a thoughtful old bot he was. 

Optimus crouched down, carefully leading you to the floor where you were able to stand on your own two feet. “Can you make it to your room by yourself?” 

You huffed, still flattered by his insistent worry over your wellbeing after all this time. “Yes, Optimus, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” With a nod, you took a step back as he stood back up, displaying his full, towering height. 

A mutual goodbye was done silently, but seconds after you began to walk away, he called your name. 

He waited for you to look to continue. “You… mentioned there was much on your mind, from events of this past cycle.” 

It took you a moment to recall the referred comment, but you did, and wondered if maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. Optimus had enough worries to deal with, your struggles were for you to handle. 

“If you are still awake when I am finished, would you like to discuss it?” 

Your very thoughts had become a reality, and with it, the guilt. Your stress is nothing compared to what he goes through, he deserves to rest after work, not be bothered with your venting. Yet, you’ve done it in the past, still never shaking the guilt of doing so… But, you, Optimus, alone? The more selfish nature within you liked the idea, a lot.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I would like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the idea of the bots being able to communicate via their minds is in a lot of fics, but there's one fic in particular by Arabis, author of the "Signature" series on here, that I'm heavily inspired by their take of it! They refer it as the "neural-net" and can communicate between each other through more than just words, ex: feelings, active thoughts. Loved the idea, and I just had to use it myself. :)


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